nathan hill (sweatband) wrote in playinghouse, @ 2012-09-07 20:29:00 |
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Current mood: | angry |
Entry tags: | 01-12, delaney, nate |
don't look
Who: Nate and OPEN
Where: Kitchen
When: Day 12; early evening
Nate was starving.
When he'd awoken that morning to find every single item of clothing he owned missing, he'd been instantly pissed. Who the hell thought they had the right to take more of his shit? But then, when he'd realized that meant his sweatbands were also not in his room, he'd begun to panic. There was no way he could leave his room after that. He couldn't let anyone see his wrists.
Utilizing the camera access everyone in ExB had, Nate took the opportunity to remotely check to see if everyone else was suffering the same plight, and as he'd expected, they were. Maybe he might have found it funny to watch other people react if he still didn't need a fucking cigarette or twenty, but all watching did was make him even angrier.
The day passed slowly. He wrote angry things in a beaten up notebook he'd packed with him from home; he tried to make origami throwing stars from the page he'd ripped out of a library book; he read. Nate even tried to take a nap, but his everlasting headache paired with hunger gnawing at the walls of his stomach kept him awake.
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. His own room was driving him nuts, and the food cravings his nicotine withdrawal was causing could no longer be ignored. At around five o'clock, he dragged himself to his dresser and wrenched it open, only to find that the white shirt in his drawer had long sleeves.
He used a pen to stab holes in the sleeves so, after putting it on, he could snugly fit his thumbs through. When he looked into the mirror in his bathroom, he saw that his hair was wild and probably needed a wash, but decided he didn't give a shit. With no hat to jam on his head, Nate left his room looking fucking boring.
The kitchen was empty when he arrived, and Nate hoped it remained that way until he left. There were no leftovers in the fridge, so he'd have to make himself something. The mere thought of that made him slam the refrigerator door shut as hard as he could, only experiencing a minuscule amount of pleasure from the rattling he heard as a result. Afterward, he was on the prowl in the walk in pantry. If there wasn't something readily available to take off the shelf and eat straight away, he would strongly consider writing an angry letter to the scientists.